Naughty Bits -- Published Work by Gina Marie

Thursday, July 8, 2010

A Tall TaleSpoiled Rotten--GM

Summer around here didn’t arrive until July 5th. Then yesterday the daytime high temperature jumped 20 degrees from 67 to 87. Today, it’s rocketing above 100. That's what you call a heat tsunami. Of course, it's nothing like what the East Coast is dealing with, but to us folk out here, it's a scorcher. The thermostat in my little crackerjack box of a house played a mean trick. There is a setting for cool, but there isn’t really any cool. Turns out it just blows hot air while the word “cool” blinks slowly off and on and the fan whooshes senselessly through the floor vents.

I am hot and lonely. I am hormonal and edgy. The package of pills that I’ve been eating for breakfast says that tomorrow will be a bloody one. I feel sorry for the fuckers who’ve fucked with me over the past couple of days. Not really. They deserved it. Hormones are just nature’s way of giving us a break from being rational and prissy and lovely. It’s a great time to ditch the nicey nice and just lay it on the line. Bitch. Prick. Slimey, milk-curdled asshole.

Anyway, I know I won’t see him tonight. There are days like this. It’s a crazy life. It just is. It's probably even good for me. I mean, really! Who should have everything they want? (ME!) And I’m a spoiled little brat. I like the way I feel when I’m near him. I spent too many years alone in a crowd. The wanting never ceases. The craving never subsides. Never. Not for an instant. I want to slide my lips over his cock and listen to the sound of him responding to the movements of my hands, my tongue, my wet, sweaty body twisting on top of him and working him like a puppet. I want to slide atop him on the cool leather couch and rock against his hard, wet dick, lick my index finger and rub my clit raw. I just want to look up and see him smiling at me from across the room. I want to curl up with him tonight and immerse myself in the pleasure of the goodness of my lover's hard, smooth, silk-upholstered tailbone pressed up against mine. A perfect fit.

I want. I want. I want. Greedy little bitch. So uh, it’s hot in here and I should be spraying myself down with the garden hose or something, but like I said, I’m edgy and cranky, itchy, bitchy, irritated and fussy. Now, I’m not one to get all catty and whiny, but when the guy at the bank gave me the runaround this morning, I wanted to pull a Fight Club move on him that he’d never forget! I wanted to spew Fight Club quotes and scream at that tie-choked little dweeb: “Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.” Pow!

The cat fucking chewed a hole in the cord to Wanda. She’s my lovely little rechargeable pleasure wand. Get it? Wand-a? How’s that working for you? Being clever? I want to be Tyler Durden in another life. So it’s hot and I should be in a cool bath or something but I’m drinking wine and writing a stupid fucking annual report and checking off this ridiculous to-do list of bills and signing snarky undeserving teenage boys up for driver’s ed classes and disciplining whiny (good Lord, will his voice ever change?) 12-year-olds and getting distracted looking up scholarly journal articles about tribal hunting patterns in the southeastern Oregon desert. Yeah, I’m a geek. A very horny geek.

All this time I’m thinking about Wanda and him and how I’ll be alone for a WHOLE entire night and how ridiculously stupid I am and so what and stop it and it’s hot and I just want to go play in a cool stream and run around naked but I can’t because the bills keep coming. And there’s poor, dead Wanda lying on the floor next to my bed. Battery drained. Silent. Sad. She wants me. She can’t have me. I lie down next to her and push her silver button. Nothing. I plug her in and twist the gnawed-on cord, semi-hoping to be shocked out of my misery by a flash of electricity. Nothing. Sigh. I run my fingers along the damp edges of my pussy and remember a time when I was young, like maybe 13, and just about masturbated my wrist off. A vibrator back then would have set me off like a rocket. But just fiddling around isn’t as fun. I wanted Wanda’s smooth moves. I picked up the broken cord and twisted it gently left and right. Then I pushed the frayed wires together and wiggled them. Here goes nothing. I pushed the button again. Pay dirt! Wanda reared to life as I sweated atop the sheets, laughing into the empty room. Yessss! My favorite kind of diversion from all the stupid bullshit that blows my groove. Pleasure. Pure, greedy, self-absorbed pleasure. I thought about the nights we’ve spent out on the porch in the cool summer air, listening to the frogs. I thought about him fucking me against the metal rail, hands on my ass. I thought about his cum spurting all over my face and both of us laughing while I wiped a giant, creamy glob from my eyeball. Simple pleasures.

Wanda had missed me too. She kissed my hot, cranky, swollen clit with her smooth, white lips. I slid my dirty middle finger into the top, slick portion of my pussy and tickled myself there slowly. I love that place where clit and cunt collide – that beautiful, slippery center, a tangle of beautiful nerves and mental pleasure points. I held Wanda tight against the tip of my clit and pinched my left nipple. I pushed my finger deep into my breast and circled it slowly while Wanda buzzed her way to my juicy center. I pushed my finger deeper into the place where the ridges rise along the curve of my pelvic bone and stroked them while Wanda kissed me sweetly. The mean banker, the dumb boss, the annoying masses, disappeared from view and all that was left was a big, hot, wanting pussy. I cranked Wanda on high and went for it, squeezing those powerful muscles somewhere deep near my navel that serve like match to the gunpowder. I thought of him pulling my thighs apart in the morning and waking me with his warm, hard tongue and kaboom!

Now I’m hot again. And fussy. And cranky. And still mad at the banker and the stupid asshole boss and the bitchy, ridiculous people. I’m spoiled. And lonely. I want. I want. I want. Greedy little bitch.

But at least Wanda is on the charger, the damaged cord carefully wrapped in black electrical tape. And the fucking cat is outside, under the porch.